


uneasy lies the head that wears the crown

by eclipsed (lucitae)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, heroes or something with vague mcu blue print, the m is for implied mcd and violence, the m is not for sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26388607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitae/pseuds/eclipsed
Summary: three drabbles touching upon the weight on heroes' shoulder and the one who waits.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Shirabu Kenjirou/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	uneasy lies the head that wears the crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ruthlesszoya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthlesszoya/gifts).



> it's not really a fic. just three drabbles stitched together while listening to niki's [pandemonium](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QBqmZ5qS-gw) on repeat.
> 
> content warning: choking.

The incessant pounding on his front door sounds too frantic to be a drunken mistake. No attempts are made to guess at his pass code. Shirabu Kenjirou turns and glares at his clock. In a few hours he’ll have to drag himself out of bed, get to the hospital, and scrub in for the day. Since they won’t go away even when Kenjirou ignores them for a solid minute or two, Kenjirou heaves a sigh and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“Who—” and the following expletives die on his lips when he swings the door open.

Sakusa Kiyoomi has a look of panic in his eyes. Curled hair matted against his forehead thanks to the accumulation of sweat underneath the mask. The iconic spider still resting on his sternum, he must not have changed in a rush to get here.

It’s not hard to see why.

Ushijima Wakatoshi’s arm hangs limply to his side. The other one is around Sakusa’s for support. He lifts his head and all Kenjirou can see is the blood trickling down the side of his face.

This doesn’t make any sense.

Ushijima’s head should have been protected by an iron suit. Just like his mother.

“I didn’t know where to go,” Sakusa’s voice trembles so slightly it might have gone unnoticed to an untrained ear.

Kenjirou opens the door wider to allow the two entry, taking a quick look down the hall to see if anyone is watching.

Kenjirou doesn’t ask questions. They’ll tell him when they want to. More often than not, they don’t. More often than not, they don’t even come around. The Ushijima household has facilities Kenjirou can’t even begin to dream of. _We don’t want to worry you_ , they say as if that ever stops them from happening. _We don’t want to worry you_ , they say and show up at your door like this.

That’s fine, Kenjirou tells himself as always. But fingers that grab the supplies from the cabinet he keeps stocked grips the plastic and paper wrapping a little harder than usual.

“There’s tea in the second cabinet from the left,” Kenjirou says in an attempt to keep his tone as even as possible. He turns to look at Sakusa, still frazzled from whatever they had encountered. It’s unlike the Sakusa he knows but Kenjirou can’t allow himself to be unraveled by it. There’s an Ushijima in need of his help. “Help yourself after you get cleaned up.”

Kenjirou collects everything he needs and hurries back to Ushijima for an initial survey.

Ushijima is on the couch.

After the initial assessment, Kenjirou sinks to his knees.

It’s mostly external injuries. Still, he should probably get assessed at a hospital and not by a fifth year med student.

Kenjirou begins to clean the wound with gloved hands, assessing for the need of stitches. Ushijima does not flinch.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s quiet but loud in Kenjirou’s silent apartment.

If this was anyone else Kenjirou would have snapped back _you should be_.He still wants to, to a certain degree, even when it’s Ushijima- _san_.

It’s not about the timing. It’s about everything else.

Kenjirou understands the weight on a hero’s shoulder. Seen Ushijima try to fill his mother’s shoes after her passing for this past year. But he can only understand how difficult it must be. He will never know what it’s like to be a hero at a young age. Whether it is because of parental lineage or an accidental encounter with a radioactive spider — Kenjirou will never fully know. Kenjirou can only _imagine_. He can never share Ushijima’s burdens the way Sakusa does and vice versa. He can’t even ask.

All he can do is wait for moments like this. Spend the time in between traipsing the fine line between anxiety and throwing himself into work to relieve it.

“I’m sorry,” Ushijima says again.

And what else is there left to do but forgive?

His hands are warm as they thumb away Kenjirou’s sadness from his face. As warm as the tea Sakusa sets aside for Kenjirou.

* * *

The sky is a haze of acrid smoke. Kenjirou covers the lower part of his face with his elbow as he dashes out to usher a kid to safety. Battles of inhuman proportions are raging left and right with no regard for normal civilians. Of course there isn’t. The world as they know it is ending.

A massive shadow suddenly blocks out the sun. Kenjirou looks up towards the source of the looming shadow.

Jaws and teeth dive towards him and Kenjirou pushes the child, yelling at him to “run!”

The impact of flesh being sunk into never comes. But rather the familiar _clink_ of metal pieces being assembled. And the security of something pressed against his back.

Kenjirou opens his eyes in horror. The iron suit he knows by heart — the iron suit that belongs to another — wraps around him piece by piece. He runs but they only seem to come to him faster.

And once the boots clasp around his ankles, the rockets turn on, propelling him away from the battle field.

All that remains uncovered is Kenjirou’s left hand.

If he was in capsule he would be pounding at glass. But he isn’t. So he yells while trying to fly back but the suit won’t listen.

And Kenjirou can’t do anything but watch Ushijima try to fight the monster with nothing but a single hand with blasters.

( There’s already so much crimson staining the ground. So many corpses. Kenjirou doesn’t turn away when the final blow happens. His anguish drowned out by the wind and the triumphant roar of the victor. )

“Kenjirou?”

A firm shake to his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Kenjirou stares at the unbloodied face hovering before him, grips him by the shoulder and shoves him down on the bed.

In his mind he still sees red.

Kenjirou’s knees are on either side of Ushijima’s chest. His hand clamps around Ushijima’s throat, wishing he had a scalpel to press against the jugular as he spits: “health care providers.” Not the carotid because this is a threat. He wants Ushijima Wakatoshi’s life but not like this. “Especially first responders,” his hand continues to apply pressure on Ushijima’s trachea, “are taught to value personal safety.”

“You can’t help anyone if you are dead.”

His hands tremble. Ushijima has the power to pry them away. To struggle. To push Kenjirou off. But instead his hands come to wrap themselves around Kenjirou’s wrist.

The look of confusion transitions to unbidden tenderness when Kenjirou says: “don’t you dare give me your suit.”

“I’ll kill you myself if you do.” But by this point Kenjirou’s hands are already lax. Ushijima’s pulse under his thumb pulling him out of the apocalyptic dream.

Ushijima doesn’t say anything. He never makes promises he can’t keep.

He pulls Kenjirou down until Kenjirou’s face is buried against his chest. Hand combing through hair even as his shirt dampens. Sturdy arms caging Kenjirou’s trembling form.

Kenjirou knows his answer.

If Kenjirou had abilities to speak of, he would raze the world to the ground for Ushijima and for Sakusa.

He lifts his head. A look into Ushijima’s eyes tells him all he needs to know.

* * *

Kenjirou is on his way home when a familiar purple and black suit pops into view. He hangs by a thread of spider silk.

“Are you trying to reenact the movies based off you?” Kenjirou jokes.

In Sakusa Kiyoomi’s early days, he was accidentally captured. The video was uploaded, went viral, and some company decided to make it theirs. Paste on some gendered generic superhero name, cast a white actor, recolor the suit for propaganda purposes, and inserted some cheap romance that used women as trophies.

Sakusa wasn’t bothered.

Kenjirou seethed.

Ushijima Holdings acquired a significant portion of the company just to reap some profits and return them to where credit was due.

Kenjirou stares at the blank white wedges in place of eyes. And waits for Kiyoomi to reveal why he dropped by.

“What if I am?” Kiyoomi says instead.

Kenjirou blinks in surprise.

“With me?”

“If you don’t want to I’ll go find Wakatoshi- _kun_ ,” Kiyoomi says purposefully, emphasizing Ushijima’s name.

“Who said I didn’t,” Kenjirou snaps. But his hands that come to cup the sides of Kiyoomi’s face are gentle ones.

There’s only one reason Kiyoomi would be here at this hour. Anyone else can overlook the quivering spider silk as a sign of strain in a fight against gravity. But Kenjirou knows better.

It’s one of the many rituals he’s learned over the years. It’s one of parting.

So Kenjirou hooks his fingers under the edge of Kiyoomi’s mask, and rolls Kiyoomi’s last barrier of defense against the world up towards his nose. His lips close the distance then. And Kenjirou crumbles at the seams. Desperation a thin thread between two lips.

“We’re out of suture packs,” Kenjirou says when they break for air, despite the two in the drawer at his apartment and the dozen in his bag.” So come back in one piece,” he whispers against Kiyoomi’s lips.

And only when Kiyoomi nods, does Kenjirou release him. Leaning against the wall as he watches the vanishing figure of valiance.

**Author's Note:**

> write the poly you want to see in the world.
> 
> they are all in love with each other but i don't have the time or patience to properly world build or write about the development of a relationship.


End file.
